


An Inclination to Believe

by scrollgirl



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-04-16
Updated: 2006-04-16
Packaged: 2017-10-06 22:18:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrollgirl/pseuds/scrollgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leo welcomes the newest member of the senior staff, Will Bailey. Tag to "Holy Night".</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Inclination to Believe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sefkhet](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=sefkhet).



> Written for [](http://sefkhet.livejournal.com/profile)[**sefkhet**](http://sefkhet.livejournal.com/) for the [Leo McGarry Ficathon](http://celbalrai.livejournal.com/18916.html?nc=79) ([master list](http://celbalrai.livejournal.com/26106.html?nc=20)).

Will is deep in thought, hunched over Toby's notes on education, when a gravelly voice from the door interrupts him.

"You're not allowed to campaign in a federal building, you know."

Startled, Will drops his pen. "Mr. McGarry," he says respectfully, rising to his feet. "Yes, of course. I'll take down those posters right away."

Leo has on his tan overcoat, a red scarf draped around his neck and his briefcase in one hand. He looks ready to finally call it a night, at 10 pm. "Well, see that you do," he says. Leo eyes the posters another moment, smiling slightly -- perhaps fondly -- before turning back to Will. "The president'll have notes for you on energy and the environment once he gets back from Manchester. This time, try to be more candid in your feedback, huh?"

Will puts on a polite smile, still smarting from his previous encounter with Leo and the president in the Oval Office. "Yes, sir." He squares his shoulders, ignoring the tension building at the base of his skull.

"Okay, then. G'night." Leo takes one step out of the doorway, then comes back. "You're Tom Bailey's son, right?"

Will, whose butt is halfway down to his chair, quickly straightens up again. "Yes, sir. I'm his youngest son." He adds, "But I'm not the youngest in the family. I have a step-sister who's twenty-seven." Will shuts up then, wincing at his uncensored rambling. He must be more exhausted than he thought. He could be in Nice right now.

Leo seems amused. He comes further into the office and takes a seat in one of the guest chairs, then waves Will to sit down as well. After a moment of hesitation, Will sits, perplexed. "So does that make eight kids, or seven?" asks Leo. Apparently they're making small talk.

"Elsie makes eight." Eight kids in one family, though they didn't all share the same biological father and mother, and the older boys had already left home by the time Will had been born. He was the seventh son.

"I've only got the one. She's an elementary school teacher." Leo's craggy face lights up as he talks about his daughter, and Will is struck by a vivid memory of his dad cheering on a four-year-old Elsie as she kicked a little rubber football into the make-shift goal Will was defending. He suddenly realises who Leo reminds him of.

"Mallory's spending Christmas with her mother, but I've got her all day tomorrow," Leo says, sounding pleased. "I've made reservations at La Fourchette, my favourite French restaurant. You should taste their braised wild duck," he adds, smacking his lips, and Will is tickled to discover that the White House Chief of Staff is a foodie. "The key is their fruit sauce: spiced apricots, plums, and pears. It's _sensational_."

Will makes a show of noting down on a scrap of paper the restaurant and the braised duck and the spiced apricots, though he wonders if he'll be in town long enough to need a social life. On the other hand, Washington does have its charms and there may be one or two reasons for him to stick around after the Inauguration. Nice isn't going anywhere. "I'll keep La Fourchette in mind," he tells Leo, tucking the scrap of paper into his breast pocket with a flourish.

Leo nods, grinning a little, satisfied that he's passed on essential food wisdom to the uneducated. "Anyway, tomorrow should be a quiet day. We've got a skeleton staff in the West Wing. World Vision's sending some people down to oversee repairs to the Church of the Nativity. It's finally stopped snowing, I convinced Josh to head home to bed, and tomorrow night I get to take my daughter to see _The Nutcracker_."

This time Will's smile is genuine. "I love _The Nutcracker_."

"Oh yeah?" Leo raises both eyebrows as if he's a little surprised to hear this, but also as if he's unclear on what to do with the information now that he's got it.

"It's a childhood favourite," Will explains hastily. "Ballet usually puts me to sleep."

"It's a hell of an improvement over Chinese opera, let me tell you that," says Leo with great feeling. "Well, I doubt there are any tickets left, not for tomorrow. You could try." He pauses, then adds, "But don't you already have plans? You're not sticking around here, I hope." His expression is stern, but not forbidding, and again Will is surprised by how much Leo reminds him of his father.

As for Leo remonstrating him for even the _possibility_ of Will working through the holidays, well -- from the little Sam has told him, Leo is the one guy who barely ever leaves the office. "He's the first one in, and the last one out," said Sam, his voice fuzzy with the thousands of miles stretched between them. "Leo's the guy. He's a giant. You want him in your corner, Will, trust me on that."

"Hey, I'm only a temp," Will protested. "I barely have time to figure out how to get from the mess to your office, let alone convince _the_ Leo McGarry that he should be in my corner."

But apparently Sam was more right than Will could imagine, or else he has psychic abilities, because for some odd reason or another Leo is being _nice_ to him, chatting about restaurants, talking about his daughter and Will's family. Will considers for a moment that maybe he has dropped through the looking glass into an alternate dimension in which the staff of the White House actually _remember his name_.

"I said, do you have plans for Christmas?" Leo asks again, eyebrows hovering high on his forehead.

"I'm sorry, yes," says Will, coming back down to earth. "Yes, we've got a flight out of Dulles at four in the morning. Weather permitting, of course."

Leo glances out the window behind Will. "Yeah, well, you can never tell this time of year." Groaning slightly, he pushes himself to his feet. "Oh, before I forget," he says suddenly. "There's a reason I came down here."

He unzips the front pocket of his briefcase and pulls out two folders, sliding one across the desk. "Your contract. Three weeks, starting after the holidays, from December 28th to January 21st." Leo keeps hold of the second folder and waits as Will skims over the details, but after three minutes, he blows out an impatient breath. "You worried I snuck something into the fine print? Just sign the damn thing already!"

Undeterred, Will finishes reading the last paragraph before plucking his pen from the floor where it has dropped. It's a cliché, he knows, but there are chills running up and down his spine, his palms are sweaty, and he's got the stupidest grin on his face. Will signs his name, adds the date, closes the folder, and hands the contract back to Leo. "Thank you, sir," he says steadily, solemnly, the expression on his face briefly tamed.

"Thank you, Mr. Bailey," Leo replies, shaking his hand. Then slides the other folder across the desk. "We're not done just yet. Paperwork to get your reserve status changed from Ready Reserve to Stand-by."

This time Will doesn't bother reading before signing, and then he's done, and Leo is packing up his briefcase.

"I'll fax this over to your CO when I get home tonight, put a rush on things."

Will stands when Leo stands, stays standing when Leo pauses at the door and turns back.

"Toby has impressed upon me the paucity of writers in the world equal to the Inaugural address," says Leo, and the steady light of his blue eyes is transfixing. Will holds his breath as Leo speaks. "Toby says you're capable. Sam says so too, and when Toby and Sam are telling me the same thing, I'm inclined to believe them."

Will opens his mouth, then closes it again. Leo breaks his stare and nods a couple of times, already moving on to the next thing, always moving. "Well, I'm getting out of here. You better get out of here too, if you've got an early flight."

"Yes, sir," says Will, faintly, then snaps out of his daze. Leo's halfway through the Communications bullpen already, but Will shouts after him: "Merry Christmas, Leo!"

Leo lifts a hand in acknowledgment, calls back, "Yeah, same to you!", and swings into the hallway out of sight.

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to John Spencer, my aunt, and Maisie.


End file.
